


don't you ever give up on us, my dear

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angstfest, Arguing, Barebacking, Children, Knotting, Lots of Angst, M/M, Makeup Sex, Mangst, Misunderstandings, and doesnt do anything wrong, and then porn, derek is confused most of the time, fight, i dont know just read it, lots and lots of feelings, oh there is porn, stiles wants kids but he is stupid and does stupid stuff, there is a lot of angst and confusion, this is kinda like a reverse amy/rory thing???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-15
Updated: 2013-06-10
Packaged: 2017-11-29 09:23:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/685371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Tell you what's wrong? Yeah, yeah I'll do that, Derek. I'll do that when I--you know what, nevermind." Stiles ran his fingers through his hair. "Fuck it. I'm done. I'll do this before you can."</p><p>Derek was in the living room, mouth gaping, eyes wide and vulnerable. The look on his face was so unguarded that it probably would have made Stiles pause, but he was already at the door, gathering the handles of his old lacrosse duffel he hadn't used in four years and pulling open the door, tumbling down the stairs with a gait that utterly displayed his grief while managing to convey that he was trying his hardest to look unaffected.</p><p>(note: Chapter 2 is not story, it's just tied up loose ends that were asked after).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I reblogged this post earlier: http://pr1nc3ssp34ch.tumblr.com/post/43060834954/hoechlined-tyler-and-dylan-angry-clothes
> 
> And it really inspired me to write a fic. So this fic will feature Stiles angrily (and publicly) throwing his beanie on the ground, and Derek tossing a shirt on the floor. Also, Rory and Amy sprang to my mind when I thought of what would make them both angsty.
> 
> In this situation, it's kinda like a... reverse of that? With Derek as Rory and Stiles as Amy except not. Yep. That will make sense after reading. Totally. Okay I need to stop.
> 
> Also, the song inspiring me while I write this is Don't Give Up On Us by The Maine.

The thing about Derek and Stiles was that they worked.

 

Until they didn't.

 

"Stiles, have you seen my work shirt?" Derek called upstairs, after pulling up all the couch cushions. Normally, this would have been the time for Stiles to tease him about losing his things again, but he didn't say anything. Derek found himself frowning, and it wasn't because of his shirt, which, after a moment, came floating down to the bottom floor. He wondered if Stiles was busy, but then, how had he found the time to look for his shirt?

 

His frown was practically a scowl by then. "Stiles?" he called tentatively up the stairs.

 

"Hmm?" 

 

Derek sighed in relief. He sounded fine, normal--maybe he'd just been brushing his teeth when Derek called before. "Just checking!" he told him, a slight smile gracing his normally dour face. Stiles made him smile more than anything else in the world.

 

After a moment where he tried to find his leather jacket (thrown haphazardly into the closet), Stiles was bounding down the stairs, a smile crossing his face at the sight of Derek. He thought his mate's eyes might have looked a little red, but it could've been from lack of sleep. They were, truth be told, up very late the night before. Derek pressed a kiss to Stiles jaw, seeing as he was standing up a step and therefore taller than he was, and tugged on the strings of his hoodie. "You know I love this one."

 

Stiles flashed that mischevious grin that made him fall in love in the first place and talked about his Little Red Riding Hood fetish, and Derek kissed him, languid and soft. He wondered why the grin didn't quite reach his eyes, but resolved to ask him about it later when they weren't already late for work and school.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Derek and Stiles were having coffee on one of the many lawns on USC's campus when Stiles completely froze. For a moment Derek didn't notice, because he'd taken a rather large sip of piping hot Americano, but when his tongue didn't feel like it was gonna fall off anymore, Derek felt the utter stillness almost more than he would had Stiles been punching him deliberately in the face. His head immediately whipped around, trying to find any source of danger, wolf clawing at him to  _protect_ and Derek agreed wholeheartedly. However, there didn't seem to be anything that could possibly hurt Stiles around. In fact, when Derek looked, all he saw was a young couple who looked utterly smitten, carrying a boy between them who was still stumbling--learning to walk, maybe.

 

He studied them as they passed, lucky no one was watching him because staring at babies was often considered pretty fucking psycho. But he couldn't help it. His mind's eye immediately conjured a very different image. This time it was Stiles holding their little boy's hand, laughing as he stumbled for the millionth time and he and Derek had to work together to pick him up and set him right again. He didn't know, of course, if that would ever be possible for them. He hadn't talked to Stiles about that, about wanting kids, wanting a family, since right after they got together. For a long time, he didn't think he did. He winced, remembering the pain, the terror, the  _guilt_ that came from the fire. He hadn't wanted anything new and precious for years, after that, especially not family.

 

But then he'd finally had Stiles. With him, everything seemed less harsh and painful, like the world had given him a reprieve. When Derek was with Stiles, he had hope. And the pack worked out so well as surrogates - children, honestly, - he figured maybe they could start a pack of their own. Hale pack had first dominated because of size and generations on their side. One day, Derek hoped to rebuild that.

 

He realized his face was probably still a mask of pain; it always hurt to think about his family, even if he was thinking more happily than he'd been able to do years ago. Derek turned to Stiles and he was watching him, an absolute unfathomable look on his face. All of the sudden, children weren't as important to him.

 

_What did I do?_

 

 

 

 

 

 

Stiles traced the treskilion on Derek's back. He wondered how something so simple could be so interesting, that Stiles never tired of it, never wanted to stop familiarizing himself with the pattern. Realizing he'd spoken aloud only when Stiles pressed a warm kiss to the center of the tattoo, right between his shoulderblades, he sighed. "It feels like respect," Stiles explained. "To Laura and Peter and family. That's what it's all about, right?"

 

Derek shuddered. He'd never actually talked about the tattoo, which he'd gotten back in New York, when he and Laura had been living on their own. He needed something to tie him to the family he had left--they were a pack of three by then, even with Peter in a madness-inducing coma. Derek couldn't regret the tattoo if he wanted to. He was shocked Stiles had figured it out. 

 

Then again, it wasn't too surprising. Stiles always seemed to know what he was thinking without having to ask. "Yeah," he replied quietly, "about family."

 

He probably sounded upset, because Stiles didn't ask him about it again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Do you ever think about the future?" Stiles asked him one day when they were sitting on the couch. His gangly legs managed to fall all across Derek's lap as they watched _Titanic,_ which just so happened to be on whatever channel they'd stuck the TV on before they lost the remote. Books lay strewn about him, abandoned; thirty minutes ago Stiles had proclaimed himself unable to possibly read another word. So Derek had gotten up and turned on the TV, and they somehow stuck with  _Titanic,_ even though Stiles cried every time.

 

He noticed Stiles wasn't crying now, which was different. However, since he didn't exactly love it when he did, Derek didn't mention it to him. "All the time," was what he said instead. He wasn't quite sure where Stiles was going with that.

 

"Am I in it?"

 

It was such a shocking question that for a moment, Derek found himself speechless. Many things shifted when he thought about the future; location, details, time periods, houses, children. The only never-ending constant was Stiles. When he finally managed to get over how ludicrous the idea of Stiles  _not_ being there was, he told him, "Of course. Why are you asking?" Derek's wolf was growling in his chest, not outwardly, but instead directing it's anger on him alone. The animal was right. Somehow Derek was failing to actually _show_ this. That was the only possible reason for him to question their relationship.

 

Stiles shrugged, ever the picture of nonchalance, but he smelled like anxiety and sadness. Derek reached out to stroke his cheek with his fingertips. "You are my future," he told him honestly, trying to convey just how certain he was that even if Stiles hated him someday, even if he broke off contact and never wanted anything to do with Derek Hale ever again, he would always follow right in his footsteps, waiting for the day that Stiles would take him back.

 

This was it for him. There was no one else he could imagine himself being with. The only other time he'd ever felt like he was in love had been with Kate, and that obviously hadn't been real. Even then, he'd never pictured himself with her the way he did with Stiles, standing proudly at their children's graduation, dancing at Scott and Allison's upcoming nuptuals, spoiling Boyd and Erica's son, still growing in his mother's womb. Derek couldn't see himself without seeing Stiles. 

 

He was reminded vividly of Wuthering Heights, which Stiles made him reread recently after proclaiming for the millionth time that he was pulling a Heathcliff.

 

_If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger._

 

 

 

 

 

 

Stiles and Derek hadn't fought in years. They used to fight all the time when Stiles was younger, but since his college years, it was almost like they moved in sync. Every time a fight should have started, they ended up explaining each other's sides instead of their own while trying to apologize profusely through massive amounts of guilt. Needless to say, fighting was an alien concept to Derek when it came to associating it with Stiles.

 

Which was probably why he was so confused as Stiles screamed at him. 

 

He'd only wanted to make him tea, because he was frustrated and bent over his work and writing like a madman. He'd asked what kind he wanted, and Stiles hadn't responded. Derek had pressed a kiss to the back of his neck, and Stiles had exploded, wondering why he couldn't just get a little space every once and a while, especially when he was trying to work. Derek was dumbfounded. He hadn't meant to do anything wrong. He'd only been trying to help Stiles relax, but it seemed like that was a lost cause. He had a feeling that Stiles had been building on his anger for a very long time.

 

Somehow, that hurt Derek a lot more than he'd already felt. 

 

He found himself talking back, not screaming--screaming was for when he was worried and trying to save people--yet conveying anger all the same in the set of his shoulders and the deadly calm in his voice. He'd only been trying to help. If Stiles didn't want someone who cared whether or not their muscles ached after being bent over a textbook for several hours, then he could go somewhere else.

 

It was the first time Stiles ever stormed out of the house, but it certainly wasn't the last.

 

 

 

 

 

 

_"Just talk to him, Stiles!"_

Derek hadn't meant to eavesdrop. He was merely coming upstairs to get the laundry hamper when he heard Scott's angry voice over the phone. This was unusual, seeing as Scott almost always forgave Stiles immediately for anything that happened between them. Derek listened carefully, poised as though he was caught in mid-action in case Stiles decided to come out of the bedroom.

 

"I can't. It doesn't matter anyway; I told you what he said before."

 

_"That was years ago. If you seriously think that his feelings haven't changed--"_

 

"I thought maybe they had, but you didn't see him with me that day. It was painful, Scott."

 

_"Maybe you're taking things the wrong way. Have you ever thought you're too emotionally deep in already to actually see what's--"_

 

"I tried! I wanted to, God, I hoped and prayed that things were different. But nothing points me in that direction."

 

_"You should ask. Derek wouldn't want you to keep this from him."_

He heard Stiles huff indignantly before the sound of the phone hitting the bed echoed loudly against his sensitive eardrums. Stiles was keeping something from him. Something big, something that made him sad. Something Derek was doing wrong. 

 

Nothing about the conversation made any sense to Derek. He gathered that there was something he'd done wrong, probably a long time ago, something that had been building. Yet he could _not_ for the life of him figure out what it was. What had he done to make Stiles so upset? Because he could see it, hear it beneath all that anger. Something was eating away at Stiles, slowly killing his joy and his laughter. 

 

Something that dealt with Derek.

 

 

 

 

 

 

He tried to wait for Stiles to come to him, he really did. Derek tried to be supportive and kind, though sweetness and sugar weren't his natural style. 

 

Stiles didn't even blink at him. He thought he prefered Angry Stiles to this one, because at least angry was passionate. Stiles now just... showed nothing. No emotion towards him at all. And it stung, more than he thought love could. He wondered how he ever thought he'd been in love with Kate. It had never hurt like this when she was gone.

 

They talked less and less, no matter how much Derek tried, until he finally couldn't take it anymore. Stiles was getting something out of the closet when Derek asked him.

 

"What's wrong?"

 

He hated the way it sounded, all broken and confused. Fortunately and unfortunately all at once, it didn't seem like Stiles noticed his tone. He merely stopped what he was doing and set down what he'd been holding, which was his duffel from high school. He looked straight at Derek, but it was as if Stiles saw through him instead.

 

"What's wrong? You want to know what's  _wrong_?"

 

Derek frowned. He didn't know how much clearer he could have been. Of course he wanted to know what was wrong. He nodded slowly, unsure of what Stiles was getting at, exactly. "Tell me."

 

Stiles laughed. Outright, and a little cruel. It wasn't like him at all.

 

"Tell you what's wrong? Yeah, yeah I'll do that, Derek. I'll do that when I--you know what, nevermind." Stiles ran his fingers through his hair. "Fuck it. I'm done. I'll do this before you can."

 

Derek was in the living room, mouth gaping, eyes wide and vulnerable. The look on his face was so unguarded that it probably would have made Stiles pause, but he was already at the door, gathering the handles of his old lacrosse duffel he hadn't used in four years and pulling the door open, tumbling down the stairs with a gait that utterly displayed his grief while managing to convey that he was trying his hardest to look unaffected. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was a long time before Derek made his way upstairs. He'd been sleeping on the couch, and had called Isaac, begging him to bring down some of his clothes so he wouldn't have to go back up. When he came over, Isaac looked at him with a mix of pity and anger, the latter not seeming to be directed at Derek himself. He got the clothes when Derek asked and didn't ask all of the painful questions, which was why Derek needed him the most.

 

Isaac spent the night without needing to be asked.

 

Touch comfort was the best thing for wolves in pain, and often enough he felt Isaac's hand on his shoulder, fingertips brushing his arm. It calmed him a little, enough to think about what had happened. All he really wanted to know was what he'd done.

 

He didn't go to work. Isaac didn't chastize him. For the week after Stiles left, all Derek did was sit on the couch and think. He tried to remember something, anything that had triggered the downward spiral that was his life. No matter how hard he tried, however, he couldn't think of it. One day things had been good and the next, Stiles' smiles weren't reaching his eyes. And he didn't know  _why_.

 

He didn't fucking know. Derek walked upstairs slowly, ignoring Isaac's whines from below. When their Alpha was upset the Betas could all feel it, but Isaac had always been most in tune with others' emotions. It was hard to hear his pain and keep going.

 

The slow burn inside his heart was enough motivation.

 

The sight of their bedroom almost brought him to his knees. It still smelled like Stiles, even after eight days of him not being there. The bed was made, something they'd never once done in all their years of living together. Stiles' glasses weren't on the dresser. His hoodies weren't a mess on the floor. The room was cleaner than Derek had ever seen it.

 

He went through the drawers, throwing shirt after shirt out, becoming more and more violent with each one. They were all his. Nothing of Stiles' could be found until the fourth drawer, where his clothes he hardly wore were kept. Stiles didn't own many clothes, but if Derek had to bet, at least half of them were gone.

 

The bed was painful to even look at, yet he sat on it, head in his hands. He just didn't know what he'd done. Derek could live without Stiles being there, if it made him happier to be without him. What he couldn't live with was not knowing, because not knowing meant no way of fixing it or making it up to him or even  _trying._ That was the hardest part; he couldn't try. He couldn't fix it because he had no idea what had broken.

 

Well, he knew what Stiles had broken in  _him,_ but that was for another time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

"You're an idiot," Stiles' father told him for the billionth time that day. Resolutely, he ignored him, focusing more on watching Scott play lacrosse. They were just at the park, no big deal, but it was nice to see his friend get out and play again, especially since he really had missed it. His father had been invited because he didn't want to be alone (it might give him time to think)--he was seriously regretting the decision.

 

"I'm serious, Stiles. I sound like a broken record but I'm going to keep saying the same thing until you talk to me about it." Stiles wondered if his voice could go away simply from lack of use. He certainly hadn't been talking most of the week. Normally, this would have been cause for confusion, because Stiles could never fucking  _shut up,_ but now it just made people look at him like he was the spawn of satan or something. Like he'd done something wrong.

 

"You don't even realize how wrong it was, do you? You just thought about yourself and how you felt like shit. Don't you realize that you never even  _told_ him how you felt? I mean, I'm not the kid's biggest fan or anything, but I can recognize that he doesn't deserve that. You're my son. I expect better from you." That was new. His Dad hadn't actually mentioned what he'd done before. Stiles thought he might've been waiting for him to come and say it, but he wasn't planning on it.

 

The fact that even his Dad was disappointed in him stung the most.

 

He went to run a hand through his hair--nervous habit--before making contact with his beanie. Instead of actually saying anything, he threw the hat down onto the ground angrily, both his hands coming up to fist at his hair like he wanted to tear it out. "You don't understand," he told the Sheriff, angry for no apparent reason that he was even there. Why had anyone called him? Why couldn't they just let him crash at one of their houses instead of inviting his Dad out and getting them a hotel? You don't just  _do_ that to someone.

 

Although, everyone was pretty mad at him. He could see why they'd resort to torture.

 

"I understand well enough what you think," his Dad responded cooly, like he was a criminal or something. "But it was pretty damn awful of you to just leave that boy in that house without even telling him why. Did you ever stop to think that it might actually hurt Derek more, not knowing? That he might wonder, or think he'd done something wrong? That he might think he wasn't good enough?"

 

The idea, in all honesty, had not occured to Stiles. He'd been pretty much operating on his own misery. He'd been watching Derek for months, trying to see if anything was different from that night three years ago.

_"Do you think you'll ever want kids? Not now, I mean, but like, in the future, way way in the future, cause they're so cute and like--"_

_"No."_

_"No?"_

_"I would never want to inflict my fatherhood on a child."_

_  
_At the time, Stiles hadn't really been all that worked up about it. Sure, kids were adorable, but he could deal as long as Scott and Allison had about fifty million of them. But the older he got, the more he realized just how much he wanted a family. How much he wanted a family with _Derek._ He knew he wanted a big one, maybe three or four kids. 

 

The thing was, Stiles had a hard time not talking about things he really wanted.

 

He knew that if he mentioned it, Derek would say yes. Derek would give him anything if it meant he was happy. But the question was, would it make Derek happy? So he tried to find out, to see if maybe he'd changed over the years.

 

When he looked at that little boy and his face morphed into a mask of pain, Stiles knew he was a goner.

 

Because of course he couldn't ask for Derek's pain. That was something akin to masochism. So instead he wallowed, and sulked, and the more he tried not to think about it the more it had taken over his thoughts. Mentioning it to Derek would have been wrong because it would have made him sad, and guilty. Stiles didn't want that. No matter how much he hated the way Derek's face looked when he screamed at him, for no reason other than his own pathetic emotions, it would be worse to truly guilt him into something that would cause him pain probably for the rest of his life.

 

So Stiles had gone, and left him behind without saying a word. He thought that would be better, thought it might give him time, because he'd started to think that maybe if he told him, Derek would just leave him. Leave him and find someone who understood him better.

 

That hurt worst of all.

 

In truth, he hadn't given a lot of thought to how Derek would see him leaving. He'd focused more on the effect long-term. Now he could see quite clearly, the Derek in his mind's eye curled up on the couch, his eyes losing focus in that way that meant pain and memories.  _He_ was the cause of that.  _He_ was the one who'd caused Derek that pain.

 

It was like a punch in the gut.

 

HIs Dad seemed to realize he'd gotten through to him, because he pressed on. "I know that I've been around a lot longer than you, so I know it's probably a lot easier for me to realize the feelings of others. But if you love that man as much as you've been telling me you do, you might wanna rethink your decisions. Because the Stiles I know would never hurt someone without telling them why. My son wouldn't leave without saying goodbye, and he certainly wouldn't run away from his problems."

 

The Sheriff was right. Stiles had somewhere else to be.

 

He kissed his Dad (something he hadn't done since he was five), and told him to tell Scott he was sorry for leaving as he ran back towards his Jeep.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Derek came home from his first day back at work to Stiles curled up on his couch, arms wrapped around his legs and head resting on his knees. He didn't look up when the door opened, which was good, because Derek couldn't have hidden the raw emotion on his face if he wanted to.

 

He was pretty adverse to feeling that vulnerable in front of Stiles at the moment.

 

When he sat down, Stiles still didn't look up. He wasn't watching anything--just staring at the wall as if it was going to move or something. Derek didn't say anything either. He watched Stiles, drank him in as if he'd never seen him before. Every mole that dotted his cheek, the way his hair was stuck up like he'd just woken up or was particularly worried. Everything about him was beautiful and wanted and made his chest ache like he was having a heart attack.

 

Neither one of them said anything for a while. If you asked, later, they couldn't tell you how long they'd just sat there silent, but it seemed like an eternity before Derek whispered, "I'm sorry." He tried to make it strong, but the sound of his voice came out broken and strangled, as if syllables were knives. 

 

Stiles head whipped around like the sound of his voice had been a gunshot. His eyes were wide and bloodshot, like he'd been crying, and Derek was about to say it again when Stiles was on him like a monkey, flinging his leg over his lap and wrapping his arms around his neck and there were  _limbs everywhere_ but Derek didn't give a  _shit_ because Stiles smelled like home. It took him a minute to realize what he was saying, more focused on how he was actually wrapping his arms around Stiles, for real, actually pressing kisses to the soft, vulnerable skin of his neck.

 

"I'm sorry, so sorry, please don't be sorry Derek, it's not your fault, I love you, I'm sorry," Stiles was repeating the same sentiments over and over, hardly stopping for breath as he spoke. It felt so good to hear him rambling again. It felt horrible to hear the guilt and pain in Stiles' voice, no matter how much he felt like he probably should have wanted that.

 

"It's okay," Derek murmured into his skin, running fingers through his hair over and over because he knew it calmed him. "It's okay, I love you."

 

He realized Stiles was crying when he let out a shaky sob at the words.

 

There were few things that confused Derek anymore, but the number one would always be Stiles. He could never just figure him out. Every time he thought he knew him inside and out he'd do something new and different that had him all muddled up again. Derek was just as confused now as he was any other time. He wanted to ask what was wrong, but his wolf whined in pain at the thought of asking what made Stiles leave in the first place.

 

He was terrified that reminding him would only make him go away.

 

They sat there for an unknown stretch of time, Stiles babbling nonsensically while Derek soothed him. He wondered, vaguely, if it should be the other way around. Considering Stiles had, after all, left him. But their relationship had never worked in perfect order, and it wasn't about to start then, so he sat there with Stiles pressed against him and felt bittersweet.

 

When both of them could breathe again, Stiles pulled away (Derek might have let out an embarrassing whine at loss of contact, but neither of them talked about it) and just  _looked_ at him. He felt awkward and self-conscious. Derek hadn't shaved since the day Stiles left, and he'd barely brushed his hair that morning. His eyes probably looked red from lack of sleep and crying, and sleeping on the couch had hunched his back more than he'd thought it would.

 

"Oh, Derek," Stiles whispered, his tone bordering on disbelief. He didn't understand that at all. Did Stiles honestly think that he was unaffected by him?

 

He didn't kiss him, though he seemed to want to, and that made Derek glad. He wasn't sure if he could handle it after having him walk out and just  _end_ things like that. Like he didn't even fucking matter. Like walking out was easy. Like being  _without him_ was easy, even though being without Stiles was torture.

 

"I'm sorry," Stiles said for the billionth time, and Derek pressed his thumb to his lower lip. "Stop apologizing." His voice was still too hoarse and broken to really be taken seriously.

 

Stiles didn't really listen, anyway, and shushed him before continuing. "No, Derek. I was definitely an idiot. I should have just talked to you, because I love you and somewhere inside me I know that you love me." Derek made a broken sound, didn't even try and deny it, because it was  _Stiles_ and he was talking like he didn't know Derek loved him. As if Derek  _could_ love anyone else.

 

"I--"

 

"Shh," Stiles hushed him again, pressing a hand to his mouth. Derek's eyes flickered up, studying his face. He looked tired, ridiculously exhausted, but beyond that he looked anxious, and a little bit disappointed in himself. Derek fought the change as his wolf reared in his chest to  _fix it,_ since obviously Derek had done a poor job, but it was hard; it sounded like a good idea to Derek. He focused on Stiles, on his anchor, until his eyes didn't feel quite so red.

 

"I--fuck, Derek. I'm so sorry. I know you don't want me apologizing but it's never gonna be enough. I never stopped to think that--that if I left, it would effect you. Worried more about myself, you know? But then my Dad said something to me and it made me think and I realized, fuck, I just  _left_ you, I didn't even  _explain myself,_ I'm such a shitty human being--" Derek bit down on the skin of Stiles' palm, trying to convey everything he wasn't allowed to say, that it was him who should be sorry because he'd obviously done something  _wrong_ because  _of course_ Stiles leaving was going to effect him and if he didn't know that than Derek had done a shitty job of showing him that he needed him.

 

Always.

 

Stiles sent him an absent grin and removed his palm, continuing on. "I just. It sounds stupid, now that I'm about to say it out loud." He used his hands on Derek's shoulders as leverage to get off his lap so he could settle into a position beside him on the couch. Derek turned in frustration, so that eventually their legs were tangled together, but at least they were finally facing. He didn't speak, because he needed to hear it, needed to know  _why,_ but he did cradle Stiles' hands in his own, and that smile he missed so much ignited a fire in the gaping hole that'd become his heart.

 

"Do you want kids, Derek?"

 

The question was so shocking that for a moment, he didn't quite know what to do. He just sat there, dumbstruck, unsure of how to answer. Was Stiles asking because he left because he thought Derek didn't want them, or because he thought he did? He couldn't tell, so he opted for the truth.

 

"Three," he said quietly, avoiding Stiles' eyes. "Four, if there's twins. I'd love to have twins." The words spilled out of him like he couldn't control them, and he was terrified because what if this was why Stiles left and holy shit the thought of Stiles leaving again--

 

"Oh my God." Stiles didn't seem angry. He didn't even seem confused. He seemed... happy. Relieved. Derek frowned and made eye contact, seeing that utter bonelessness that came with a weight lifting from his shoulders. "Oh my God you actually are serious. You are serious and I just lived with my Dad in a hotel room for a  _week_ when we could have been looking at  _surrogate processes_ and oh my  _God._ "

 

Derek didn't really register what he was saying for a moment. "You thought I didn't?"

 

Stiles frowned, guilty now. "I--you told me you didn't! You said, all broody and macho,  _I wont inflict my fatherhood on a hapless babe,_ something like that, you definitely said it."

 

Derek could have screamed. Derek could have clawed down their house. Derek could have done any number of things, and almost none of those things sounded productive. Because he realized that it hadn't been his fault. He didn't do anything to make Stiles leave; he left because he put too much stock in what Derek had said when he was still broken. But he wasn't broken anymore, because Stiles had learned how to fill in all those little gaps but he could be such an  _idiot_ sometimes.

 

"I take back every apology," he told him.

 

Stiles laughed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

They were going to talk. They had definitely planned on talking, had said something about maybe sitting down to dinner together, but all that died away when Derek kissed him. Stiles was pretty sure he'd been apologizing for something, but he couldn't for the life of him remember what it was. He wrapped his arms around Derek's neck, dragging blunt fingernails over the nape. Derek growled, low and sexy in that way that made him  _shiver_ and holy shit he'd missed this. 

 

"Derek," he gasped, trying to think and oh teeth, teeth on his neck that was his  _tendon_ Jesus Christ. "I think--I--we were talking?"

 

Instead of responding, Derek hummed against his throat before licking a broad stripe up to that really sensitive spot behind his ear. He figured he deserved it, because werewolf boyfriend and he probably didn't even smell like him anymore, which was a problem for possessive alpha wolves, apparently. It looked like Derek couldn't remember what they were talking about either, because he pressed his lips back onto Stiles and absolutely  _fucked_ his mouth with his tongue.

 

Stiles was  _wrecked._

_  
_"Hnn," he panted when Derek pulled him up, climbing his body like it was a God damn tree. Derek managed to hold him easily, not even stumbling as they made their way to the staircase. "Nh, Derek, missed you, _shit--_ " Derek cut him off with his mouth, pressing him against the wall halfway up the stairs. He rutted against him like they were God damn teenagers and  _"Oh,_ yes, holy fuck, more," because Stiles never could keep his mouth shut and Derek absolutely  _loved_ shutting him up.

 

Fortunately for Stiles, Derek's mouth was currently preoccupied with trailing down his body, stopping momentarily to almost rip the shirt over his head. He was pretty sure Derek would've clawed it off if Stiles hadn't chastised him about that one too many times ("What if that was my favorite shirt, Derek, you can't just disrespect my clothing like that"), and the desperation was more than a little sexy, but he couldn't even focus on that because there was a _tongue_ on his  _nipple_ God  _damn._ He tangled his fingers in Derek's dark curls, tugging slightly when he marked one of his abdominals. Stiles would never achieve Derek-level abs, but he had his own, and he was decently proud of his lean frame (mostly when Derek was worshiping it).

 

"Der," he breathed, unable to finish his name because his jeans were almost on the floor and his boxer briefs were about to follow. There was something so hot about Derek on his knees for him, eyes flashing red when he took in the sight of Stiles' cock. It was even hotter now, when they hadn't done this in over a week and Derek  _moaned_ at the sight of him like it was more of a turn on than anything else. Damn it if that didn't make Stiles feel hot.

 

Watching Derek's mouth evelop his cock was probably one of his favorite sights. He loved to map his lover's hollowed cheeks with his fingers, loved tugging on the delicious curls and eliciting a moan from those lips that were doing  _delectable_  things to his dick. He did so now, and the groan's vibrations were enough to have Stiles on the edge faster than he'd been since he was in high school. "Oh, my God,  _Derek,_ I'm coming, holy shit you are a God among men oh my Jesus--" and then his words garbled because he was spilling himself straight down Derek's throat and he couldn't form coherent syllables anymore.

 

Stiles' legs shook as Derek stood, but the alpha kept a grip on him so he wouldn't fall. He wondered at the parallel that made to their lives, the way Derek was always there, catching him when he fell, bolstering his confidence when it ran low, holding him up when all he could feel was down. 

 

He really was a fucking moron.

 

Stiles kissed him like he might never get the chance again, and for a moment Derek was whining softly into his mouth and his dick was getting hard  _alarmingly_ fast, but then Derek was slowing down, brushing a thumb across his cheek, pulling away. "We have all night," he murmured, and the tenderness in this voice widened Stiles' eyes, parted his lips. How could Derek still be trying to comfort him after what he'd done? It was stupid. Ridiculous.

 

Completely and totally  _Derek,_  though.

_  
_Stiles wasn't a werewolf, but he did growl, pulling Derek's head to his so that their foreheads touched. "No, Derek. You are not going to be generous and kind tonight. I was _horrible._ I treated you like  _shit_ and this is why were supposed to  _talk_ oh my God. Aren't you even a little bit angry?"

 

Derek's eyes flashed red, but he didn't stop with his thumb on Stiles' cheekbone, gentle and unbearably sweet. He was very quiet for a moment, and then: "I don't want you to leave again."

 

Stiles felt like he'd been stabbed in the chest. Oh.  _Oh._

_  
_For a moment, neither of them said anything. Derek was frowning and desperate, the hand on his hip tightening as if he would fight any urge to leave. Stiles felt hopelessly guilty, because he didn't even trust him to _stay,_ and he deserved it but it still  _hurt,_ right in the middle of his chest. He cupped Derek's jaw with his hand, feeling the almost-beard he'd grown over the past week. "I'm not going anywhere. But I'm not touching you again unless you stop pretending you aren't absolutely livid right now. I want you angry. I want," he sucked in a harsh breath, because as much as he wanted this for Derek's sanity, he liked a little angry sex, too, "I want you to take what you want from me and remind me I'm yours. I want you to make me forget I ever left. C'mon, Derek, take it out on me."

 

And holy shit Derek was shaking, like he was resting on the edge of a knife. His fingers trembled against Stiles' skin, and he covered Derek's hand with his own, trying to convey how okay he was with this by digging the Derek's fingers just a little into his skin.

 

Derek's fangs extended.

 

He was fucked.

 

They kissed like they were fucking, with Derek doing  _obscenely_ filthy things to Stiles' tongue, and Stiles moaning the entire time, wanton and shameless. Derek pulled him up the stairs and he couldn't get up fast enough, picking Stiles up so he could use some of that inhuman speed he always boasted about to get them on the bed.

 

If he said that wasn't hot, Stiles would be 900% lying.

 

Derek didn't let him breathe, but he didn't want to. He was dizzy, but the barely-there oxygen was good, breathing in Derek was so good, being close was so much better than air. He chased Derek's lips with his own when he pulled away, but Derek merely smirked down at him, eyes red and glowing. 

 

"Turn over," he ordered, and Stiles complied embarrassingly fast, surprising no one with the amount of pre-come shooting from his dick at the dominance Derek was exuding. He could feel the power in waves, knew Derek wanted him to know that he controlled him, he was  _his._ There were times Stiles made sure Derek knew he was his, too, but this, right now - it sent a shiver down his spine.

 

He was naked except his socks, which Derek made quick work of. He could hear him stripping, the jingle of a belt buckle, the sound of fabric hitting hard-wood. Stiles was hard as  _granite._

 

"You wanna come?" Stiles whined, loudly, against the pillow. He didn't have to use his words, and Derek almost purred from somewhere above him. "Good," he told him, sounding far too jovial for the amount of anger and dominance he was exuding.

 

"Don't."

 

Of course, as soon as Derek said it, Stiles was teetering on the precipice.

 

He felt his hands sliding down his back like they were a brand, and he groaned, completely losing all sense of dignity because holy  _shit_ that was Derek's tongue in his asshole.

 

They didn't do this often, couldn't wait, usually, needed to fuck. So it surprised Stiles when Derek swiped leisurely strokes against the puckered hole, had him gasping and fisting at the sheets and wanting to come harder than he had in his life. "Oh, my god, you bastard, I hate you," he panted, rewarded only by the slap of Derek's skin meeting his cheek. Oh.  _Oh._

 

Stiles was pretty sure he hadn't felt this dirty in forever. Which was saying something, considering how many compromising positions he'd found himself in throughout the years.

 

"Yeah, do it again, mark me up, make me all red, I wanna feel you in the morning like a bruise on my  _soul_ holy  _shit--_ " he couldn't talk anymore, because talking was unimportant when he was trying to fight off his orgasm because  _Derek fucking Hale_ would'nt let him come and that was the worst thing ever because his finger was there, too, flickering sinfully over Stiles' prostate and he couldn't even  _breathe._

 

When he felt fucked open and absolutely wrecked, every breath taken only to beg, pleade, whine, _fuck me, I wanna come, please let me come oh god fuck me please,_ Derek finally took mercy on him. Breathing hot air across his absolutely soaked hole, he whispered, "Come," and Stiles did, coming apart underneath him like a fucking firework.

 

 

 

 

 

It would be lying if Derek said he wasn't enjoying himself. He loved Stiles spread out for him, taking everything, not arguing like he always did--though usually, that was more of a turn on. He supposed it had a lot to do with the fact that Stiles was right. He  _was_ angry. He was livid and confused and hurt and he couldn't talk about it, so he conveyed it in the ways he played Stiles' body like a fine-tuned instrument. He was spent, blissed out and wet and shaking, and it was all for him.

 

Derek needed this, needed the control, to feel like Stiles was really  _his._ When someone leaves they leave a mark on you, and he wasn't sure if that would be erased in one night. But he could try and envelop him, to cover Stiles in his scent and climb his way into his heart until they were one being, one entity, because then he  _couldn't_ leave, not if they were the same. All he could think about was sinking into Stiles' skin like a brand until there was no possible way that he could ever be alone again.

 

He was, however, compassionate enough to warm Stiles up again slow, take his time and allow for oversensitivity. Of course, that didn't mean he stayed away from his prostate  _entirely,_ and he definitely added a fourth finger, but that benefited Stiles too, so it wasn't like he could complain. By the third finger, Stiles was begging for it anyway. "Come on, Derek, want your cock, please, no more waiting I missed you come  _on._ "

 

If Derek were a mere mortal, he would have crumbled. Fortunately, he wasn't.

 

He entered Stiles with no warning, positioning himself over his still-pistoning fingers before slipping them out and replacing them only a moment later. Stiles screamed into the pillow, and Derek growled, pulling his face to the side because needed to  _hear._ He needed to drink it in, all five senses touching and tasting and hearing and seeing and smelling Stiles just  _fall apart_ for him.

 

Stiles had a filthy mouth, begging for his cock every moment that he wasn't praising him or asking him  _harder, more, c'mon, need it, please, faster, unh._ But Derek wasn't really one to talk, because a littany of words spewed out of his mouth unbidden, things like, "Fuck, Stiles. You're mine, always mine, you  _love_ it, because you want my knot, you're  _begging_ for it," and Stiles was. Derek wasn't that much of a talker in bed, but he wanted to scream at Stiles, for betraying him, for hurting him, and he didn't know how to do that either, and this was there, this was good, it was.

 

"Ngh, Derek, come on, come inside me, wanna feel it, I know you - want to,  _fuck,_ " and Stiles was coming embarrassingly fast but Derek didn't even care. He fucked Stiles through it, brushed over his prostate even when he begged him to stop. Stiles liked it best when Derek was just  _using_ him, and usually he couldn't make himself do that because it was Stiles and he adored him and everything they did together should have been equal, but right then all he could think about is the overwhelming need to _claim_.

 

Stiles was screaming  _no, oh my god too much, no,_ but he hadn't used any of their safe words, and Derek knew he was okay. He turned him over and re-entered him, just so that he could watch Stiles get hard for him all over again.

 

Derek always liked this way best, mostly because he could see Stiles cheeks flushed for him, obscene lips parting, eyes fluttering like he wanted to watch but couldn't even keep his eyelids from shutting because of what Derek was doing to him. When he took Stiles like this he saw him fucked  _raw,_ saw his face absoutely wrecked at what he was doing. It was the biggest head rush he'd ever recieved.

 

He pressed inside, hard and fast like he'd been trying to fuck his way into Stiles' body and just live there, and Stiles took all of it,  _no's_ turning into  _yeah's_ turning into  _holy fucking shit Der_ and that was better than the sweetest drug. Derek did things to Stiles he'd only ever dreamed about but had been way too shy to ask for and he just  _took_ it, gasping for more. This was why he loved Stiles, why whenever Stiles left it was like an ache that wouldn't go away. Because he took everything Derek had to offer and accepted it, never once for a second refusing him. Derek couldn't say no to Stiles because, inherintly, Stiles was his weakness, and it was in his nature. But the trust and the love Stiles gave him was hard won and always given. 

 

Pressing closer, he kissed Stiles' mouth, loving how even that couldn't stop him moaning, gasping, running his nails down Derek's back and leaving long, pink welts that healed moments later. He often regretted being unable to wear Stiles' mark like a brand. "I love you," he told him, honest and raw and Stiles gasped, eyes flickering open to look at him before he was coming all over again.

 

Derek prided himself on lasting, but even he couldn't last much longer than this. He could feel it, feel his knot swell inside Stiles as he fucked him raw, despite his over-sensitized whimpers. Stiles must've felt it too, because with a gasp he pressed himself closer, suddenly completely on board with being fucked way past breaking point. "You love this, don't you? Love my knot, fucking you just like this," Derek told him, panting every syllable. Stiles had long since lost the ability to speak, but he keened, writhing under Derek as his knot swelled larger, until it brushed Stiles prostate with every shaking movement. Finally, finally, he came.

 

When Derek collapsed against his body, Stiles still managed to run comforting fingers through his damp hair.

 

 

 

 

Six years later, Derek came home from work only to be attacked by greedy arms. His children climbed him like he was a jungle gym, completely ignoring Stiles' yells of, "Wait until he gets past the threshold! I know you missed Papa, but you can't just..." he trailed off at the smile on Derek's face as he strode right in and closed the door, as if having three kids climbing all over him wasn't even a _hindrance_. _  
_

"There _is_ a reason they say Papa's the strong one," Stiles mused as if he was surprised. Derek grinned at him, expression so open and happy that, as usual, it floored Stiles. He'd never seen him smile that big before Noah had been born, and he wondered for the millionth time why he'd been as idiotic as to think Derek hadn't wanted this.

 

He clawed his children off him like they were feathers wafting in a breeze, laughing when Laura clung stubbornly to his leg. "You're just like your Auntie," he told her, finally managing to pry her tiny claws from his jeans, "She didn't know when to give up, either."

 

She pouted at him, but said, "That's cause Auntie Wauwa was the  _coolest._ Wight?"

 

He nodded in agreement. "Totally."

 

Laura giggled and ran towards Stiles, who was waiting with open arms to catch her. "Daddy, Papa said you was gonna make cookies tonight. Can we have cookies, Daddy? Pwease?" 

 

The three year old lisp got to him every time.

 

"I suppose, dear. But only if you promise not to steal Georgie's slippers again." She pouted at him like it was her job. 

 

"I didn't steaw them! I pwomise, I was gonna give them back. Sweaws." Laura gave him a very serious look, making him fight the laughter from his face in an effort to match her.

 

"You always say that, Laura-belle."

 

She frowned at him, looking so much like Derek that he kissed her cheek. "Come on, it's totally fine to idolize your older sister as long as you aren't  _stealing her stuff._ Go play with Emma," he ordered, shooing her towards her other big sister, who was sitting on the floor stacking alphabet blocks as though she were an architect. 

 

Noah, who had remained behind because he was far too old and cool to climb his Papa like a tree at six years old, was looking pointedly at Derek, who bit his lip to hide a grin and crouched down to look his son in the eye. "Hey, Noah. Did you miss me?"

 

For a moment it looked like he was going to say no, but very grudgingly he told him, "Yeah, a little."

 

Derek didn't hide his smile that time. "Oh really? How is second grade today?"

 

Noah frowned at him, but he looked more like Stiles than Derek, and Stiles had never been good at frowning convincingly. "Too  _boring._ I already know how to write my words, Daddy showed me last year. And I wanna read Harry Potter, but they keep giving me little books. I  _hate_ little books," he finished vehemently, like if he saw one more he'd throw it out the window.

 

Derek suppressed a chuckle and ruffled Noah's hair. "We'll buy you a copy of Harry Potter to take with you after school tomorrow, okay? Jesus, you're gonna be just as smart as your Daddy." 

 

He grinned at him, surprised, and Stiles stuffed down a snort because  _really?_ Derek wasn't stupid. "Really? Daddy's  _really_ smart, though. Like, he teaches the  _big kids._ "

 

Derek didn't hide a grin. "Well then you're gonna be  _really_ smart, too. You wanna help me make the cookie dough?"

 

"Oh, me too! Papa, I wanna help!" Georgia called from the living room, immediately followed by a cry from her twin sister, and Laura not far behind them. Derek smiled.

 

Stiles laughed.

 

An hour later the kitchen was covered in flour and they were eating way-too-warm snickerdoodles off the baking sheet.


	2. Extras.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Extra thoughts about this fic, because I realize there are some connections missing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone commented on my hint at mpreg and surrogacy and I thought I'd discuss what I actually thought up about this! Also, The Maine is awesome and they speak to me. Like a muse. A very lovely, sultry, raspy muse.
> 
> John O'Callaghan will be the death of me one day.

 

 

"Don't Give Up On Us" by The Maine.

_I am weakness, I am greatness._

_I'm anything you want me to be._

_I am wasted, and I'll make this_

_The anthem for a dying breed._

_See the light in the night when you're fading away._

_Trust in us, we're all that you've got these days._

_Take a look inside my heart._

_Oh, let's get carried away._

_Don't you dare, don't you ever give up,_

_Don't you ever give up, oh whoa._

_Don't you dare, don't you ever give up,_

_Don't you ever give up on us, my dear._

_I am selfless, I am selfish,_

_I'm anything that I want to be._

_This is violent, this is honest;_

_It's the anthem for a dying breed._

_See the light in the night when you're fading away._

_Trust in us, we're all that you've got these days._

_Take a look inside these eyes--_

_Oh, let's get carried away._

_Don't you dare, don't you ever give up,_

_Don't you ever give up, oh whoa._

_Don't you dare, don't you ever give up,_

_Don't you ever give up on us, my dear._

_  
_I love this song. It really inspired me to write this fic, as you can probably tell reading the lyrics. Also, I'd suggest listening to it! It sets a really interesting mood for reading the story. But that's just my prejudice because I adore the band and the song and just. Yeah.

 

Onto more important matters. Namely, genetics! So my thought process on the children and their birth/genes/etc goes as follows:

  * All of them are wolves.
  * Noah - When Derek first came out as being gay (Kate Argent completely turned him off to women,  _forever_ ), Laura knew that he'd always wanted a big family. She asked him about kids, and about whether or not he'd want to be the father. They talked for a long time and he grudgingly agreed with her when she told him that even if his mate got to father all of their children, it'd be good to have his genes there too, so they'd look more like their own children. Laura had her embryos frozen, but after she died, Derek was in no place to say he ever wanted kids again, and allowed several packs to take some of the eggs to help their own women. As a result of this, by the time Derek and Stiles wanted to have their first child, they would only be able to have one using Laura's eggs. This is how Noah came to be, and why he looks a lot like Derek, though even more like Stiles. Erica was the surrogate for Noah's birth, because her and Boyd decide they don't want more than one, and are happy to help Derek and Stiles. She decides after Noah that the process is too much, and she is not the surrogate for any of the other children.
  * Georgie and Emma - They are two years younger than Noah and a year older than Laura, and are identical twins. This time they asked Lydia to be their surrogate, and she happily agreed, stating a trial run would be good before her and Jackson decided to procreate. Lydia was the biological mother of the children, with Stiles being the father, so they had a 50/50 chance of the children becoming wolves. Luckily, they did, and to everyone's shock a few months in, Lydia had twins. They have Lydia's strawberry blonde hair and Stiles' amber eyes, as well as a knack for being just as manipulative as their mother (she swears it isn't genetic, but looks at them proudly for it). Lydia decides not to surrogate for their fourth child, and instead gets pregnant with Jackson. Their baby later becomes practically family, assimilating nicely with Derek and Stiles' children.
  * Laura - As the youngest, Derek was surprised Stiles wanted to name their last daughter Laura. He'd thought maybe Georgie or Emma would get it, being the oldest females, because Laura had always been such an older sister figure. But Stiles told him firmly that from the moment she was born, she was definitely like Derek had described Laura. He couldn't contest that. Laura is genetically the child of an unmated female in a Portland pack who agreed to surrogate, and Derek. As a result of her being his only biological child, as well as the baby, he tends to dote on her. The mother has not contacted them since the birth, but was a very good surrogate to them and was decently paid. Laura somehow still channels her namesake's spirit, abeit in three-year-old form.



Sorry for those of you who want M-Preg! If you really want a story of mine with that, you'll have to wait for the 4th installment of Made For Me, because the next one is having to deal with meet the parents time. c:

 

 

 

 

In the case of anyone thinking this is a bit ridiculous/unrealistic (which came to me on tumblr, not in comments here), I want to point out that people do stupid things when they're in love, and people make bad decisions and don't communicate all the time.

 

 

 

 

To anyone who suggests that I made Stiles too submissive to be canon, you're right! If you want some non-submissive Stiles, try my omega!verse fic, which breaks stereotypes a little, or wait for future installments of my Sterek obsession, because I can assure you I love strong/independent Stiles just as much as you do. <3 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr [here](http://pr1nc3ssp34ch.tumblr.com).


End file.
